


When the Castle Sleeps

by medelrey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cum Play, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7424110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medelrey/pseuds/medelrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Behind closed doors, Sansa is not a lady. She is anything but.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Castle Sleeps

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the lyrics: 
> 
> Clothes off cause she's so soft  
> This ain’t a fair fight  
> I wanna shed light on the subject  
> I'll get her wetter than ever  
> Four letters are never the question  
> She likes when I’m messy  
> And I like when she’s undressing

Sansa Stark is a golden girl. She was made to be a lady; her embroidery is always perfect, her husband’s shirts are pristinely stitched, and her gowns are sewn with the tiniest immaculate details. Winterfell has never run more smoothly than when she keeps house. 

But this is not the life she enjoys most and it’s certainly not the Sansa Jon knows best. She prefers her nights; when the castle sleeps and she bolts the door of their shared chambers. She likes it best when she’s undressed and raw with passion, her wetness dripping down her thighs; she likes it way it feels when Jon explores her with his fingertips, spreading her wide as he smears her arousal across her smooth thighs. 

Jon likes her like this, too, bare and wide open for him to explore. Sansa never tells him no; not when he’s offering his mouth to worship her wherever she wants. She loves his teeth against her skin, scraping pretty red bruises across her neck so she’ll wear high-collared gowns for the next week. Sansa likes to scream his name when he lavishes her breasts with the same attention he gave her collarbones, leaving them gleaming with spit and aching with a delicious sort of agony. 

Sansa’s certainly not a lady behind closed doors; she loses her voice from moaning Jon’s name and pushes her hips into his fingers so hard she’ll feel the ghost of his touch into tomorrow. One day she’ll have him grip her hips so hard there will be fingerprints and she’ll cross her legs to ease the ache between her legs until night comes. 

After everything she’s been through, Sansa’s surprised she likes the feeling of the roughness of Jon. She pushes him until he’s at his limit and breaks; there’s only so much a good man can take when Sansa Stark is begging for hickeys on her hips and his hands on her arse. She likes his kisses hard and rough, until they chap her lips and she licks them to ease the burn. 

Sansa likes the way Jon’s beard leaves her inner thighs raw and pink, half chafed. It makes her feel like she belongs somewhere and that’s the only thing she wants. She loves the way he moans against her cunt, the sounds he makes when he knows he’s going to make her come. Jon loves that most, when Sansa’s body tenses and she bows off the bed, her hands digging into the back of his head to hold him still and her tiny heels beating into his spine. She’ll never admit it but she likes when Jon smears her cum across her stomach and lets it dry. She adores the stickiness of sex and the heady smell that clings to her until her morning bath. 

And Sansa begs Jon to be messy with her, smiling widely as she keeps him up all night, making him peak and watching with curious eyes as he spills his seed across her stomach, later across her tits. Jon half expects her to panic when he misses and it splashes across her neck and seeps into her hair but Sansa only laughs, running her fingers through it. “Again,” she says.

So Jon makes her come again before he does, this time spilling in the valley of her breasts. Sansa pauses for a moment, inspecting the mess on her skin before she dips her fingertips into it and brings it to her mouth. It’s a show as she tastes him, groaning as the saltiness spreads over her tongue. No, Sansa is not a lady when she likes the feel of Jon’s cum dried over her tits and the taste of him in her mouth. 

Jon likes what Sansa likes; he thinks she’s beautiful when she’s loose and unhinged, begging for whatever he’ll give her. He loves it too, when he can feel her ribs under her skin and how her lips part when he kisses her. He wants what she does and if she likes to feel him spill across her hips then he’ll do it. Sansa mumbles his name as he guides her onto his cock, watching with hooded eyes as she sinks downward. 

“Fuck,” she mumbles and Jon’s cock twitches - it’s so very rare for Sansa to ever use that word. Jon loves the way her mouth forms around the letters and it reminds him how she looks when his cock is between her lips. Sansa rocks up and down, bracing her hands on Jon’s chest.

She’s not eager for release; it will surely come. For now she focuses on how she feels; the wonderful burn that accompanies the way Jon stretches as he pushes up into her. Sansa’s sticky and covered in sweat; her beautiful red hair matted in knots down her back. Her thighs ache with her effort, only lessened with Jon’s hands braced on her arse to help ease her rhythm. She could ride him for hours, she thinks, for the picture would never grow old. 

Sansa likes the way Jon looks underneath her, face still pink and beard a little damp with how hard he made her come. She knows her husband won’t last much longer; she’s teased him for far too long and she’s gotten too good at clamping her walls over his cock at will. “I want you to come, Jon. Fuck me and fill me.” She presses her hand to his neck, looking deep in his eyes as she moves her hips in a harsh circle. “I want to feel you." 

Jon mumbles incoherently and groans low in his throat as he spills inside her; fingers digging into the small of Sansa’s back as he bucks his hips wildly without rhythm. "My filthy fucking girl,” he says, closing his eyes as he comes. He could die like this; surely he could. 

Sansa smiles sheepishly as she leans forward, lying flat across Jon’s chest. She keeps him inside her for as long as time will allow before he slips from her. She loves this, too, feeling his seed seep down her thighs until it dries just as sticky as the mess across her chest. Jon plays with her hair until she falls asleep, dirty and sated and as unladylike as ever. 

In the morning she rises, slipping on a dressing gown and wiping the memories of the night before from her neck and face. She’ll take her bath in a hour; becoming once again the lady Sansa Stark was born to be only until night falls and the castle sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> the song is wrong by zayn. this wasn't a prompt fill but when inspiration hits inspiration hits. find me on tumblr; mattysigh.tumblr.com


End file.
